Positively Smitten at the Blood Drive
by KricketWilliams
Summary: A yearly tradition brings both dread and romance to Spencer Reid. A threeshot. I don't own a thing...
1. Chapter 1

_AN: After my Vegas drinking story, I had a bunch of people PM me, saying "Poor Reid, he needed someone, too." Although this is not related to that story, here is one where Reid gets the girl...This is a little three shot I'd written for a friend. I hope you like it!..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

In another minute or so, the normally even tempered Spencer Reid was going to club Derek Morgan on the back of his bald head. He could take teasing to an extent, but this was getting ridiculous.

"It was a freak incident," he explained for the fiftieth time, this time to three women in the commissary waiting area. He'd already defended his position to most of the BAU, some techs, and a janitor that had dumped his wastebasket. "I'd skipped breakfast, I hadn't had time to drink enough fluids, and I stood far too quickly because we'd been called for a case. Anyone would feel lightheaded in that situation."

"Lightheaded?" Morgan hooted. "You _fainted_. Passed out cold, like a woman in a silent movie."

That muscle in his jaw, the one that signaled he'd had enough, ticked in his jaw. Why he'd allowed Morgan to sign them up together for the annual blood drive together was beyond his thinking right now.

Some genius he was.

Each year, the FBI teamed up with the Red Cross to collect blood for the active DC blood bank. It was something Hotch strongly encouraged everyone to do. Reid and the rest of the team gratefully gave, knowing that many members of their team had benefited from donated blood. All of law enforcement owed a prayer of thanks to the many that gave each year.

Morgan was a consistent giver throughout the year. He was type O, the universal donor. He was rather cocky when it came to his blood type, as if he were some sort of superstar with special blood. The arrogance irked Reid; Morgan had nothing to do with getting the type of blood he was born with.

When they reached the front of the line, Morgan handed the receptionist his donor card.

"Type O," she said with a pleased nod. "Just what we're looking for."

"See, pretty boy," Derek teased, flashing his million watt grin, "everyone wants a piece of me."

Reid handed the receptionist his card next. He should've known when they typed his blood that he was going to have trouble. He was a B+. He'd never had a B+ in his life before. Many, many, many As, but never a B+.

He'd gone back the the BAU to pseudo-complain about it...

"_Wow," Prentiss said, looking at his card, and then handing it back. "I'm a B+, and so is __Hotch." _

"_It's average," he grumbled. "The majority of the __population is B__+."_

"_Don't be upset about it," Rossi said clapping a hand on his shoulder. Rossi was an AB-, one of the rarest blood types. He gave a snarky little grin, and added, "__Be positive__!_"

Reid had groaned and walked away from the unit, feeling average for the first time in his life and not quite knowing what to do about it. It hadn't been a good feeling, and the lightheaded—fainting, dammit!—incident he'd had, had soured him to donating blood.

He took his seat next to Morgan, who had his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. He was holding his cell phone, frowning with concentration as he pressed the buttons.

"Sending a text to Garcia?"

"Yeah," Derek mumbled, finishing what he was typing. "There. We're going out tonight to see the latest McCarthy spy movie."

"A date?" Reid asked, happy to have the opportunity to tease Derek back. Morgan and Garcia had been dancing around each other for years, but only recently had she become single. It was only a matter of time now before they started seeing each other. There was a small pot on when they'd have their first official date; the day Reid had picked estimated on probabilty was coming up pretty soon.

Derek gave him a suspicious look. "Oh, no. I am not telling you anything."

Reid arched his brow. "Omissions are typically a sign of guilt."

"Not in this case," Derek growled. "Damn. What is it with everyone lately? Garcia and I are just trying to do our thing, and everyone is being pushy."

"That sounds like an exaggeration."

"Even Hotch is asking!" Morgan snapped, and then ran a hand over his face. "Man, I get it. She's single. I'm single, but I'm not rushing anything. She isn't—"

"Derek Morgan?" a lab tech said, coming out from behind the wall divider that made separate rooms in the commissary.

"We'll talk later," Reid said with what he hoped was an understanding smile.

"Not about that." Derek stood, sliding his phone in his back pocket. "Wish me luck."

Reid shrugged. Morgan didn't need the luck for what he meant. Not for giving blood. But with Garcia...well, maybe he did.

So, Spencer replied honestly, "Good luck."

A quick twenty minutes later, Derek came sauntering out of the room. He held his arm out to show the cotton ball bandage taped to his antecubital space.

"All done," he said with a grin. "You're next."

As if on cue, the tech in the white coat called, "Spencer Reid?"

Trying to hide his nerves, he turned toward the door. He certainly didn't want to ask Derek for luck, although he probably needed it far more than Morgan did.

"Kid," Morgan said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"There's a really fine brunette drawing blood back there," he said with a grin. "Pretty blue eyes and curves in all the right places."

Of course Morgan would notice that! The last thing Reid was thinking about at this moment was _picking up chicks_. "They're waiting."

"I have two words of advice for you with her," Morgan said quickly, and then added with a devilish grin, "_Stay awake_."

Reid shook his head to the sound of Morgan's laughter, and followed the tech in the lab coat past the barrier.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Thanks so much for the reviews, guys. Here comes another chapter, without further adieu..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Angie Rhodes, phlebotomist for the Greater DC Chapter of the Red Cross, was finishing cleaning up the supplies from the last person in seat B. She wasn't likely to forget that person anytime soon. Derek Morgan, an agent with the BAU—whatever that meant!—had been the most flirtatious man she'd ever drawn blood from. Giving blood in her opinion was not a sexy task, but this man appeared to think it was. There wasn't a moment his brilliant smile hadn't been showing, even when she'd stuck him with the needle—rather hard, too...he had tough skin!

Growing up with a brother who was into sports, Angie had been around jocks and was treated like the kid sister she was. Because of that, she wasn't really into the player type, so Agent Morgan didn't interest her in the least. He did seem very nice, however, and she had a feeling there was something more about him...

_"All done, Agent Morgan," she said, taping a cotton ball just below his bulging bicep._

_"Gonna kiss it and make it all better?" As if she couldn't tell he'd been teasing, he added a flirtatious wink to punctuate the question._

_Sighing as she removed her gloves, she gave up fighting. He obviously lived to flirt. Not wanting him to suffer (He did just give a pint of blood), she decided she could play his game and make this more pleasant for both of them._

_"Come now, Agent Morgan," she teased back. "Wouldn't that make your girlfriend upset?"_

_That smile was still ever present. "If I had one, she would be."_

_"No girlfriend?" She gave a slow, exaggerated shake of her head. "I don't buy that."_

_"No, really," he said with a faux pathetic little shrug. "I'm single."_

_She gave an incredulous look. "Handsome thing like you... No one has stolen your heart?"_

_That smile faltered, but only for a second, and a more genuine smile came across his perfect face. She'd been right—there was someone in his life, and he was carrying a major torch for her._

_Maybe she wasn't carrying one in return...or he didn't think the torch for him was lit anymore? Anyway, something was wrong in his love life._

_"Ahhh...I see," she answered, stroking her chin._

_He arched a brow at her with a slight smirk. "You're pretty observant. Are you sure you're not a profiler?"_

_"No," she said, handing him a cup of orange juice, "but I do know men."_

_"That's obvious." He gave a chuckle and then shot the juice down. "Thanks."_

_As he stood to leave the room, she said, "Derek?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"She'll come around."_

_He was back to applying his superficial grin that could light up the Vegas strip, along with his protective armor. "Don't they always..."_

Angie looked at the next name on her list. Spencer Reid...from the BAU.

She groaned to herself. She couldn't take twenty more minutes of flirting back to back…even if he was exceptionally handsome like his teammate.

Angie knew she was an odd duck. Even though her friends teased mercilessly about it, she was turned on by the funny, smart guy, the classic nerdy guys. The ones that were kind of shy, like Anthony Michael Hall in _The Breakfast Club_. The polar opposite of her brother's friends; that was what she was looking for. Not that the jocks weren't intelligent—some were—they just didn't turn her crank.

As she figured, there was a type of guy for everyone. She was the kind who didn't put that much on looks. Personality plus was far more important. However, if that shy sweetness came in a gorgeous package...well, that was another story. She certainly wouldn't turn it away.

"Angie," Charlotte, the intake nurse she was working with today, commented as she arrived in the room. "Should I get Dr. Reid for you?"

"Dr. Reid?" she asked. "I have Agent Spencer Reid on my list.

"That's wrong," Char answered quickly. "He specifically said Doctor. 'Doctor. It's Doctor Reid.'"

Angie rolled her eyes. "Oh, brother."

Char smiled brightly. "Oh, I learned a lot about Doctor Reid. He chatted my ear off about everything from blood types to the history of the Red Cross to the years the FBI had been donating blood."

"Great," she grumbled. "Some old know-it-all, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that..."

The way Char was smirking gave Angie pause. There was something devilish in her friend's eyes, something telling her she was off. "What _would_ you say, Nurse Burns?"

Char laughed loudly, like she always did, and beamed a grin at her. "You'll see."

Angie shook her head as Char rounded the week, they were at a local university. She'd unfortunately spent a lot of her time listening to Phds brag and boast about their accomplishments. Not only that, one was a pervert who'd tried to goose her bottom…and he was old enough to be her grandfather!

She turned toward the sink and started washing her hands in preparation for the next patient.

"Angie, this is _Doctor_ Reid."

Turning, Angie almost jumped in shock. Dr. Reid was certainly younger than Char, and probably younger than she was. Was he some sort of Doogie Howser? He didn't look old enough to be a professor!

Not only that, he was gorgeous. Pale skin, like someone who spent far too much time studying with his nose in books, dark, intelligent eyes, well over six feet tall, and a slight smile curving full lips. He was her fantasy come true.

On a second look, Angie realized he also wasn't going to point out anything wrong. He looked extremely nervous, like the idea of needles and blood petrified him. That didn't make sense to her, either. Agent Morgan had mentioned the BAU was a home of gore and horror that only the tough guys could handle. Dr. Reid didn't seem like a tough guy. In fact, he seemed the polar opposite of Agent Morgan.

Char was giving her a gleeful smile, which didn't surprise Angie at all. She loved to throw her off when she could, and she'd succeeded this time. Angie would get even...no doubt about that.

"I'll let you two be," she said quickly and exited with a giggle.

Angie extended her hand. "Hi, Dr. Reid. I'm Angie."

He took her hand in his and shook it with a nice, firm grasp like she liked. "Hello, Angie." He looked around the room quickly and then looked back at her, his eyebrows just slightly knit. "Should I take my jacket off?"

"That would probably make you more comfortable," she answered. Noticing his shaking hands, she said, "Have you given blood before?"

Stopping in the middle of shrugging off his jacket, he gave her a wide-eyed look. "Yes, I have. Is something wrong? I completed the history, and—"

"No, nothing's wrong," she said, taking a step closer. "I just noticed that you looked a touch nervous, that's all."

"I'm not exactly nervous…"

"Really," Angie commented, with a reassuring smile. She didn't believe a word he just said. "From watching you, it seems like you were a bit nervous."

"No, actually I'm not nervous, per se." He turned and folded his jacket in half and then laid it on the chair near the cot. Afterward, he sat on the cot in a heap, looked up at her, and said with self-depreciating smile, "I'm terrified."


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing this story! When you read the first chapter, did you wonder if Morgan and Garcia ever get together? I did! I wrote this and thought, "Hmm...I'm unfinished!" Look for a sequel to this story (A Collaboration with Flashpenguin) coming up soon!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Reid had to stifle a groan. He'd done it. He'd made himself sound like wimp in front of this beautiful woman. He couldn't have just left things well enough alone and tell her he was nervous. Oh, no. Not him, Mr. Genius IQ. He'd had to correct her assumption and tell her he was terrified, like a damned kindergartener on his first day of school.

If Morgan somehow heard about this, he'd never hear the end of it.

At first, he'd met the nurse, talked with her, and thought he'd calmed down. She had been kind and had tried to keep him at ease, explaining in simple, pediatric terms the procedure for donation and what he would have to do in recovery. However, his nervousness had gotten the best of him. Before she could leave, he'd started spouting off facts like he always did when he felt cornered and attacked. At the same time, he'd tried to rationalize what he was thinking and formulate a plan that would be acceptable before having to go into that back room.

The nurse had left, giving him a nanosecond reprieve to come up with something wonderful, something spectacular, that would save the day and save his pride.

The only equation his mastermind brain had come up with was: _Reid + Floor = Unacceptable._

He gave another self-depreciating laugh and looked up at Angie the phlebotomist from his position on the cot. "I apologize. I was trying to think of something much better to say than that, but words have failed me."

She smiled understandingly at him and then pulled up a chair so she could sit directly across from where he was sitting.

Looking into her eyes—he did notice they were a lovely deep blue, like a hyacinthine color—he could see compassion and caring, not scorn or pity. She seemed genuine, kind, and nonjudgmental.

"What has you terrified?"

"My history of having things happen while donating blood is abysmal," he answered flatly, unable to keep the disgust he felt for himself out of his voice. This was ridiculous; he was a grown man who could handle a simple medical procedure!

"May I ask what happened?"

"My first time was in graduate school. I was sixteen. After I donated, I stood too quickly and felt nauseous." Reid could feel the bile rising in his throat with the memory. He'd been incredibly ill and had barely made it to the commode to vomit. Afterward, he'd had a headache so severe, it had felt like a discordant marching band was playing in his head.

"Okay," Angie replied with a thoughtful nod. "That sometimes happens if you are not well hydrated before you give. Did you drink anything this morning?"

"Thirty-eight ounces of water."

She arched a brow. "No caffeine?"

He thought about how he'd missed his usual coffee and sugar this morning. "None whatsoever."

Smiling, Angie replied, "Then we're covered there, and we'll make sure you rise slowly."

"You make it sound easy."

"It is," she said. "Think of it as a time to rest while you're helping people."

"I don't rest well," he answered honestly.

"I can imagine that, working for the BAU." She laughed with a light, sweet sound that was almost musical to his ears. "That job sounds terrifying."

He shrugged lightly. "It has its moments, but it's very rewarding work. I truly love it, and I love my team."

"What's the most interesting case you've had?" she asked.

That question started ten minutes of light conversation with one another. Angie was remarkably easy to talk to. She was witty, intelligent, and grasped concepts quickly. A few moments in her company, and Reid found himself relaxing...and imagining more. He didn't have to be anyone but who he was. He could just talk to her, a novelty for someone like him.

Also, now that he wasn't scared half to death, he noticed Morgan had been correct: she was pretty...very pretty.

She'd been chuckling at something he'd said, when someone said, "Knock knock." A different nurse popped her head around the curtain. "Almost done?"

He watched as Angie's cheeks flushed a lovely crimson. "We...umm..."

The nurse lost her smile. "Four more clients are waiting, Angie."

"We're starting now," she said quickly, reaching for gloves.

"I fainted," Reid blurted out, getting the worst thing that had happened to him off his chest. When she paused to look at him, he said, "The worst thing that happened while donating blood. Last year. I fainted."

She shrugged, like it was no big deal at all. "It happens."

"You don't understand. A fellow agent had to practically carry me." That was the bane of his existence, that he'd been too queasy to walk. He'd been mortified; he'd wanted to get back to his desk at the BAU. After much pleading, Morgan had half-supported, half-carried him back to the unit...and had never let him forget about it since.

"Spencer," Angie said, leaning closer to him, her gentle blue eyes shining earnestly. "You have two choices. First one...Roll up your sleeve."

"Okay," he said hesitantly, unbuttoning his cuff and rolling the sleeve up to his bicep.

"You can walk out of here without donating"—she reached over and stuck a cotton ball with tape on his anticubital space—"with no one knowing the truth but you and I," she said softly, "or..."

He grinned at her. "I could sense that _or_ coming."

She returned his smile and reached for his opposite hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Or we can get through this together."

Tingles of awareness rushed up his arm, and his breath caught in his throat, knocking him temporarily speechless. That solidified matters for him; Angie was not your everyday, ordinary phlebotomist!

While he waited, she added, "I've been doing this a long time, and I haven't lost anyone yet. Are you with me?"

Reid smiled internally. Oh, yes...he was with her all right...

"I believe so," he said, starting to lower his other arm toward her and then retracting it when she reached for it, "with one concession."

Angie paused in her task of putting her gloves on. "Which is?"

"After this, you'll go out to dinner with me."

Reid's heart was racing in his chest. He'd never been so bold in his life, not when it came to relationships. He wasn't suave or daring, but at that moment, it had seemed the exact right thing to do. His brain was chastising him for moving without finding out more about her, such as her background, but his gut was directing his actions.

_God,_ he prayed. _For once, let my gut lead me, not my brain._

It was time to be bold. Fortune favors the brave...and it was time for him to get paid.

A heart stopping moment passed, before a pink blush and a rather radiant smile crossed Angie's face. "I think I can do that."

"Oh. Oh!" he stuttered, and then he beamed at her. "Good!"

She bit her bottom lip and smiled in a pleased manner. "Your arm, please, Dr. Reid?"

This time, he lowered his arm in anticipation.


End file.
